Lonely
by Malvolia
Summary: Mary Jane's POV on her breakup with Peter and its aftermath. Movieverse, S3 spoilers. PeterMJ.
1. The Bridge

She didn't have any idea what to say to him. How do you tell the man who's madly in love with you that you don't want to see him anymore? Especially if you love him just as much, and very much _do_ want to see him? She was sure even Emily Post never wrote about how to break up with somebody at the behest of an evil villain.

She'd kissed him not too long ago. The evil villain, that is. Harry had always been a good friend. A good boyfriend, too, back in the day, back before she fell hard and fast and Peter was there to catch her. So not too long ago, when she had needed somebody to talk to, and Peter had been (as usual) someplace else, she turned to her old friend Harry. They talked about how she'd lost the biggest job she'd ever had (Peter didn't know yet), and they made omelettes (she could barely remember the last time Peter had sat with her through an entire meal without web-slinging away) and they did the twist (Peter was too self-important for that kind of thing lately). And they were talking and laughing and commiserating and just being together, and before she knew what she was doing, she had kissed him.

No.

She knew what she was doing.

She knew that Harry was there, and Peter wasn't. Harry was listening to her, and paying attention to her, and being with her, and he wasn't turning every conversation into an opportunity to talk about himself, or running off right when she was saying something important. She remembered what things used to be, and she kissed him, and then she ran off, because he wasn't who she wanted him to be.

Now here she was, across from the man she did want, trying to figure out what to say to him. She was fidgety, and awkward, and she was wondering how soon he would figure out that she didn't mean what she said, how soon before he'd put his powers to use looking for what was troubling her so much.

Over and over again, all the way here to the bridge, she had imagined his reaction. She had pictured him taking one look at her pale face and her shaking hands, taking one look and _knowing_. She had seen him nod slowly, understanding that what she meant was not what she was saying. She had heard him whisper, "You know I'll always be here for you, MJ." She had thought that maybe, finally, they would find each other again.

But once they were face to face, she felt like she was hiding right in front of him, like she had somehow acquired the power to be invisible. He wasn't answering her, just her words. And then he was pulling out a ring, and shoving it in her face, and she wanted it and wanted him and wanted to scream because this wasn't how any of this was supposed to happen, and didn't he get it? Didn't he get _her_?

She didn't have any idea what to say to him, so what came out was the truth.

_"I'm so lonely..."_


	2. The Club

This was her life now.

She looked at herself in the mirror and took a deep breath before turning on the faucet and dashing cool water against her tear-stained face.

Tonight had been awful. The restaurant was packed, the patrons were cranky, the tips were bad, and she had been hit on by two or three older men to whom she had obviously served one too many drinks. Such were the perils of waitressing, and she was used to them all. It wouldn't have been so bad if it hadn't been for the fact that just a few weeks ago she thought her ship had finally come in and she was finally going to be a real Broadway actress instead of a semi-professional auditioner. Even with that in mind, it wouldn't have been so bad if….

She brushed a tear away, then another, then gave up and sank onto the floor, burying her face in her hands.

What was _wrong_ with him?

She had seen Peter in a lot of moods, and in a lot of his worst times, but they had never been as bad as this. She had always been able to trust him, trust that even when he was hurting her, he was doing it obliviously. Not that it didn't hurt just the same. But tonight….

He came in with _her_—the girl who had stolen their kiss. A pretty, charming blond who might actually understand what he was talking about when he went into one of his mini science lectures. They danced, or at least the girl did. Peter…. Mary Jane had seen Peter dance, and it never looked like this. Tonight it was dark and uncomfortably sensual, not carefree and lighthearted in his usual style. The twist, now that was Peter's dance—the same dance she had shared with Harry, even with no cameras around to pose for.

She deserved to watch the exhibition Peter put on tonight, but not for the reason he thought. She had told him there was someone else, and that was true. What she hadn't told him was that "someone else" was the Peter Parker who hesitated a bit before rushing off and leaving her, the one who didn't keep taking her for granted, the one who hung on her words because everything she said was important to him. In her frustration with him she had given away something that was just theirs to Harry, just as Peter had given the kiss to Gwen. And suddenly she knew that whatever it was Peter was really giving away now, it wasn't really being given to the blonde.

When the dance finished, he gave her a look that stabbed her through the heart. There was no love in it, no trust, only a sense of wounded betrayal and a desire for revenge. The girl he was with—Gwen—saw it, too, and then she did something Mary Jane didn't expect. She apologized. Even though she was innocent, even though she was caught up in something she didn't understand, she apologized. And Mary Jane found herself forgiving her.

It was that that made Mary Jane start to follow Peter. It kept her from despising him utterly when he knocked her to the ground. The hope Gwen's gesture gave her was all that held her together as she looked up into his face and couldn't find the man she loved.

She had barely been able to keep her tears back until she got home—they started spilling over the moment her feet hit the stairs. And now here she was, curled up on the bathroom floor, missing him so much her stomach hurt, wondering why were they doing such terrible things to each other. Was it really all the fault of some supervillain? Was it really anybody's fault but their own?

This was her life now, and she hated it.


	3. The Battle

He told her it would never be safe. Back before she ran out on her wedding, back before she showed up breathless at his apartment and almost begged him to let her in. She had brushed it aside, half-accepting and half-denying his words. She was ready for the risks. Those risks were no real reason they couldn't be together.

Those words of his rang in her head as she sat in a cab, suspended several hundred feet over the pavement by lengths of webbing from that stranger who did and did not remind her of him. They throbbed with every jolt of the vehicle, every hit she watched them take, every scream that escaped her lips. They drove into her heart as she cradled one of her best friends in her arms and watched him die. They persisted as she fended off questions from curious reporters, as the police car dropped her off at her apartment, as she huddled in bed sobbing.

It would never be safe. That was what he promised her.

If she didn't have him in her life, maybe she'd stand a better chance of surviving it. No more—what was it the first one had said?—no more lunatics coming along with a sadistic choice. No more being dropped off bridges, or almost crushed by falling walls, or kidnapped by…whatever it was that thing was tonight.

And no more confusion. No more wrestling with how to communicate, no more being ignored, no more watching a gap broaden and having no idea how to narrow it, or even if she wanted to narrow it. No more missed appointments. No more waiting by the phone hoping he made it home okay after his latest run-in with the lawless.

She rolled over on her back and stared at the ceiling, picturing her safe new life without Peter, and she felt empty.

She'd never wanted to settle for safety.


	4. New Beginning

"Here's your song sheet for tonight, Watson."

Her boss had said it several times before: one of the benefits of hiring an aspiring Broadway singer to headline at your jazz club was that she generally knew the songs in advance. Saved time rehearsing. Mary Jane always thought it saved her boss from having to prepare any further in advance than the last minute.

She ran down the list. Looked like it was an Ella Fitzgerald night.

Some nights she really hated her job. There were way too many songs about love in her repertoire. Love earned, love scorned, love returned, love unrequited, love triumphant, love despairing, on and on and on until Peter's face swam before her eyes in place of the tears she absolutely refused to shed in front of a crowd of strangers.

She had been so sure things would be different after that awful night in the skyscrapers, but he hadn't called, not once. He had barely spoken to her at Harry's funeral, and he'd offered no gesture of comfort—not even a pat on the shoulder, with practically every molecule in her whole body crying out for his embrace.

Now tonight she was stuck in a stuffy club singing love songs, trying to look coquettish instead of angry while singing "Why Can't You Behave," trying not to break down during "Ev'ry Time We Say Good-bye," trying to keep the tone light for "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off."

Then came "You Can Have Him," and she was done. Nobody in their senses could expect her to stay completely dry-eyed while singing lyrics like "You can have him / I don't want him / He's not worth fighting for." Not tonight. No matter how great of an actress she was.

She stepped down from the stage fully intending to ask her boss for the rest of the night off. He came rushing over with an ecstatic expression, and it turned out he had taken her tears for art, after all. "You're bringing down the house tonight, Watson!"

Fine. If reality was what was working tonight, reality was what they'd get. She didn't bother trying to look flirtatious for the next number. She didn't try to keep the cynicism from her eyes or her voice. She didn't try to pretend that there was any part of her that didn't believe in this song.

_I have given you my true love,  
But you love a new love.  
What am I supposed to do now  
With you now, you're through?  
You'll be on your merry way  
And there's only this to say: _

_I'm through with love  
I'll never fall again.  
Said adieu to love  
Don't ever call again.  
For I must have you or no one  
And so I'm through with love._

_I've locked my heart  
I'll keep my feelings there.  
I have stocked my heart  
with icy, frigid air.  
And I mean to care for no one  
Because I'm through with love._

_Why did you lead me  
to think you could care?  
You didn't need me  
for you had your share  
of slaves around you  
to hound you and swear  
with deep emotion and devotion to you._

_Goodbye to spring and all it meant to me  
It can never bring the thing that used to be.  
For I must have you or no one  
And so I'm through with love._

She did bring the house down, and they asked for the song again. Weariness flooded her as she stepped to the microphone, once more beginning her new declaration: "I'm through with love…."

The door opened. Her eyes flicked to it idly, and the blood pounding in her ears drowned out the rest of the world.

His hair, she noted absently, was back to normal. It was the only external detail she had time to notice before their eyes met and locked. She stiffened, expecting that at any second he would call her name, make small talk, launch into an elaborate apology, or explain away his behavior. But he didn't.

Slowly, deliberately, he held out his hand. And then he did something he hadn't done for what seemed like ages.

He waited for her.

A thousand reasons not to take his hand crowded her mind, and she could think of only one reason why she should—if they couldn't forgive each other, then everything they had ever been was meaningless. She reached for him. Gently, he drew her to himself, demanding nothing.

She felt the iciness in her heart begin to thaw, and "For I must have you or no one" looped over and over in her head.


End file.
